


The Rain, the Summer, and Bucky

by AvaKelly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (serious) fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, OT3, Oblivious, Paparazzi, Pining, Skinny Steve, Threesome - M/M/M, and an art studio kinda, bucky pov, exasperated natasha, long haired bucky, there's a coffee shop in there somewhere, towel capes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky swears this is what watching ping-pong feels like. "What are you talking about?"</p><p>"<i>Nothing</i>." It comes in unison, a little too loudly, before both Clint and Steve busy themselves with the items splayed on the floor around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rain, the Summer, and Bucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyT/gifts).



> So I ended up writing this for my self-prompt [ here](). Second attempt at humor. Don't expect them to be much in character though, this is an AU.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Eh, so I made some corrections (posting at 1AM is never a good idea, but here we are nonetheless), and fixed the ending a little 'cos it seemed too abrupt. Let me know if you see any mistakes and stuff.

The late morning air pounds heavily with the bustling sounds of the city as Bucky makes his way toward his favorite coffee shop. He'd been in the studio all night again, and had fallen asleep on the ratty couch in the too generously designed 'break area', a place that honestly could smell better. Or have a table, and a chair, and a coffee machine. He sniffs delicately at the edges of his long locks. Meh, shower can wait, after caffenation. He lives a block away from this amazing miracle of a coffee shop that doesn't even have a sign outside and looks like rats had had ownership sometime in the past decade. But their coffee is the pure bliss of untainted bitterness, and their cups are cleaner than in some restaurants he'd been dragged to in the past.

It's always one of two people serving at the counter and today it's the redhead. She always smirks at him as she serves his coffee, and invariably talks to him in Russian, of all things, even though he speaks absolutely zero words of it. Bucky's pretty sure she's recognized him, but she's never even dropped one tiny hint. It's good to be treated indifferently and Bucky keeps returning to the coffee shop. Today, there are already a few waiting for their orders, a couple of college students, an elderly lady, a business man who keeps checking his watch, and a guy in sunglasses leaning on the end of the counter.

Bucky's two minutes away from ordering when the corner of his eye catches the telltale of a camera's flash somewhere outside. He doesn't even dare turn around. As experience has taught him, it's best to run first, ponder later. His first instinct is to duck into the bathroom, but that one doesn't even have a window. That's when he decides to go for the other door near the back, marked employees only, and endure the redhead's wrath. Right now, she's less scary than the mob he can hear forming outside, shutter clicks resonating with increasing pace.

The door knob is his only focus as he breaks into a run, but then... Bucky's hand closes around _fingers_ instead of metal.

Sunglasses guy is there, eyebrows raised from behind the lenses. He has the same nervousness in his posture that Bucky has, meaning they're running from the same thing.

"This place got a back door?" Bucky asks.

"Oh for crying out loud," he hears the redhead behind them, and Bucky knew it, he just _knew it_ , that she speaks English, "move your asses before I fillet them!"

Sunglasses guy almost jumps out of his skin, but hurries to open the door, and suddenly Bucky is unceremoniously shoved, lading face first into the hardest pecs this side of the continent. Arms close around him and this guy smells so good, like the forest after a rain, that Bucky is almost sorry he's touching him with his tangled studio-coach-bed-hair. The man laughs, holding onto Bucky way tighter than he ought to.

"Come on, Tasha, you almost killed the poor guy."

So they know each other. For some unknown reason, Bucky delays in struggling to get free.

"If any one of those vultures finds you two hanging out in my nice quiet café," she grits, "it stops being nice. And. Quiet." Her voice goes down in volume, but that only makes her scarier.

Bucky feels the air move behind him as she gestures, and keeps doing so even after she stops talking. Sunglasses guy shifts all of a sudden, like he's shaking his head, and Bucky exhales with a sigh before pushing himself free.

"Good morning, stupid," the redhead, Tasha, says and, _ow_ , she grabs his ear, pulling a little too sharply. "First rule: be less conspicuous." And ow-ow-ow, this tiny woman is going to rip his ear off. "Second rule: move _slowly_ toward the back, or you'll attract attention."

She finally lets go and Bucky automatically cups the side of his head protectively.

"Exit is there," she tips her chin. "I have to go back to work."

The door closes quietly behind her and Bucky takes a moment to ask himself what the hell just happened. He looks around and sunglasses guy is studiously examining the ceiling, muttering to himself.

"You two know each other?" he starts, because he still hasn't had coffee and that's the first thing that pops in his head.

"Um," the guy startles a little and pushes the glasses to rest in his sandy hair, "yeah. Me and Tash, we go way back," he throws a thumb over his shoulder, making the t-shirt stretch over his chest. It's been hot outside lately, the tendrils of summer spreading over the city and Bucky grins to himself. No harm in looking. But the guy just shoves his hands in his jeans' pockets, standing there almost awkwardly.

"So why are _you_ hiding?" Bucky continues around a yawn.

It's met with a long stare before the guy squints his eyes. "Why were _you_?"

Bucky rubs both his hands over his face. Best get it over with. "I'm James Barnes." No reaction. "The Winter Soldier?" This usually jogs memories instantly.

But, apparently, not for this guy.

"What's that?"

Relief coils through Bucky, turning into laughter. It's rare these days to not be marked down as bad boy Barnes, restless vocal of Winter Soldier. He still doesn't know how he'd managed to get that sort of media reputation, and although it's boosting his sales, it's not helping with connecting to people.

"It's my band," he says and a thought crosses his mind. "You a musician, too?"

The guys shakes his head and tries to lean on the table behind him, only to miss by a few inches. He saves his balance fluidly, but then his sunglasses slide down his forehead and he fumbles, his attempts at catching them making the glasses jumps in the air a couple of times before he succeeds. When he looks back up at Bucky, his cheeks are the most endearing pink Bucky's seen in a while.

"Nah, just an actor," the guys replies and clears his throat awkwardly.

" _Just_ an actor?" Bucky returns, because he's been corralled into a highschool play long ago, and that shit is hard. "Let me tell you pal, there's nothing _just_ about acting. I couldn't act to save my life."

The guy keeps standing there, clutching his glasses, and Bucky feels the lack of coffee dearly. It's then that he spots a tray on the counter lining the opposite wall, carafe and mugs neatly stored. He makes a beeline to it, and yes, thank heavens, there's fresh, still warm coffee in it. He fills a mug, sending a grateful thought to the redhead. Tasha. He should buy her flowers or something, as a thank you. Possibly pay for the drink, too.

"What's your name?" he asks, feeling another yawn making his way up his throat, and he takes a sip. Amazing deliciousness, this is absolutely his favorite coffee.

"It's Clint, and she's going to murder you," comes back with a pointed look at the mug.

Bucky shrugs. "Nice to meet you, Clint," he smirks.

"Tell me something," Clint rotates his shoulders as he crosses his arms, leaning safely on the table this time, and Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to be cremated, or buried at sea, or...?"

Bucky almost spits his coffee out, but saves himself the embarrassment. "Hah, very funny, you."

The smile that graces Clint's face is warm and Bucky takes a moment to study him. At first glance, he looks like one of those jocks that only care about gym hours and protein shakes, but there are _layers_ peeling off this guy. He's clumsy, already funny, and there's an underlying shyness that only people who aren't accustomed with being in the center of attention have. Bucky wonders what his story is. And what's the best reason to keep talking to him. Maybe he can make a friend.

Just on cue, Bucky's stomach growls, and Clint raises an eyebrow.

"Wanna get breakfast?" Bucky asks, catching himself from patting his stomach in gratitude, because that excuse is better than anything he would have come up with.

"Sure," Clint nods and straightens.

Bucky downs the rest of the coffee, places the mug on the counter. On second thought, he rummages through his pocket and leaves a ten next to it. Clint huffs in amusement from where he's watching next to the door, and motions for Bucky.

"Know any place around here?" Bucky asks as they exit into the alley behind the coffee shop.

Clint looks around pensively, before settling for a direction. "There's a--"

"Dammit!"

A shout, accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps, makes them turn to see someone running toward them. It's a guy, possibly the smallest dude Bucky's seen, scrawny and bare chested, with a beach towel in red, white, and blue tied around his neck like a cape. His ratty sneakers peek out from too long jeans as they pound against the pavement.

The guy stumbles with another breathy 'dammit', but recovers only to skid to a halt before Clint and Bucky. He looks between them once, twice, and in exactly half a second his entire face turns beet red. He fumbles with the towel, trying to pull it around himself, and Bucky turns the laughter threatening to bubble up into the most inelegant snort ever. He manages to slap himself in the face as he covers his mouth. At least Clint is more composed, watching with an amused curl of his lips.

"You ok there?" Clint asks.

The guy is frozen, his fingers clutching onto the edges of the towel.

"Ngh," is the only sound that comes out of him.

Silence settles with increasing awkwardness between them until, at the far end of the alley, someone shouts, "There he is!", and that springs towel dude into action.

"Shit," he swears and darts through them.

For good reason, too, as the earlier mob from outside the coffee shop suddenly appears with a vengeance, flashes everywhere. Bucky finds himself exchanging one knowing look with Clint before they're both running after the other man.

They all make a left turn, then a right, then another left, and Bucky's already lost. Between his tours and his studio hours, he hasn't had much time to explore the neighborhood since he's moved here a couple years back. He knows the coffee shop, as it's right on his path from home to the studio, but that's about it. So he follows, hoping that the other two know where they're going. They seem to be just as desperate to escape the cameras.

Two more turns later, they're moving along an empty back street, towel dude making significant progress ahead of Clint and Bucky.

"How is he faster than us!" Bucky gestures, already out of breath.

Clint laughs, the fucker, and now that Bucky looks at him, it's clear he's been slowing down for Bucky's sake.

"Gonna wipe that smugness off your face," Bucky thinks and of course he's said it out loud.

It earns him a heartier laugh, Clint's eyes alight with it. Oh, no, of all the possible, stupid moments, it's _now_ that his breath decides to hitch in his throat. He chokes, and trips, but Clint catches his arm before he sprawls like an amoeba on the dusty concrete. This little hiccup's given their followers headway, and they're back to running before Bucky can say anything. Just as well, he'd have probably blurted something dumb about Clint's eyes.

Ahead, towel dude slips into a building and Clint dashes ahead, grabbing the door before it closes. Bucky rushes through with the last bit of oxygen he manages to draw in, Clint right behind him. It's too much running, too little air, and Bucky admits he's out of shape as he braces his hands on his knees, trying unsuccessfully to catch his breath.

"You ok, man," drifts through, along with "sit down" and a hand on his shoulder before Bucky's ass hits the floor. Yep. Here he is, ladies and gents, the big, scary, rockstar.

A pair of hands swipe the hair from his face and he's vaguely aware of it being tied. The hands are back then, one on his shoulder and the other on his chest, warm and steady. It helps.

"Take it easy," comes next in baritone, "don't force yourself, slow down," the hand on his chest rubbing gently.

The white spots finally stop dancing in front of his eyes, his breath more even, but now his throat hurts and his lungs feel on fire. In front of him, towel dude is kneeling, one of his hands still kneading Bucky's shoulder.

"Here," Clint appears from the side, hands over a glass of water and sits down crosslegged next to them.

Long bony fingers wrap around Bucky's own before he gets a chance to splash water on himself. Sipping carefully, he finally looks at the guy's face. Under a blond mop sticking in all directions, his sharp features are filled with concern. But it's his eyes that give Bucky pause. Where Clint's are light, skimming toward a greenish gray, this guy's are dark blue, long eyelashes casting shadows over them. Oh. No.

Bucky definitely refuses to choke on water. "Thanks," he says and winces at the sound of his own voice. There go the next days of recording. Well, he needed a break anyway.

"You ok now?" towel dude asks, and the nod Bucky gives seems to satisfy him, because he lets go of Bucky, leaning back on his heels.

Silence settles and Bucky closes his eyes, pressing the cool glass against his forehead.

"I'm Clint," he hears next.

"I know," baritone, and how can a sound so deep come from a guy so small.

"And this is--"

"I know."

Ugh. He knows. Bucky doesn't stop a deep sigh. He ponders quitting, again, moving somewhere in the mountains where nobody can find him.

"And you are?" Clint asks.

"Steve," the guy says, "and you're in my studio."

There's a moment of silence and then sudden shuffle as Clint jumps to his feet. "Are you kidding me," and it sounds almost like a screech.

Bucky's eyes snap open and he takes a look around. The space is open, wide, illuminated from above by flood lights fixed on the ceiling. They're partially turned off, letting some rare rays of sun sift in from the high windows on one wall. About one quarter of the space is surrounded by cameras on tripods, floor marked with various stickers, and the portions of walls around it draped in green. To the left there's a row of desks with computers, while on the other side, drawing tables in various stages of disarray. Opposite the stage corner, a small kitchen with fridge, sink, and cupboards that look like they've never been opened. Next to it, two sofas and a coffee table, crammed between a door and some lockers.

The walls are lined with large posters, most of them animations Bucky vaguely remembers seeing here and there on billboards. It's in front of a large depiction of a purple dragon that Clint stands, grinning wide. Steve raises, too, and joins him.

"You're the dude," Clint says, slapping the back of his hand on Steve's arm, "who does all that cool GCI!"

"Yep," Steve confirms.

"And you did Hellfire," Clint continues, eyes glued to the poster.

"Yep," Steve shoves his hands in his pockets.

"He's my favorite, and he's purple, I love purple!" Clint cackles.

"Yeah..." and Steve rocks on the balls of his feet.

By all accounts he should be smug, but instead he looks secretly pleased, genuine pride in his work etched into the smile he gives Clint. Bucky's been chasing that feeling ever since he's written his first song, and yeah, media and praises might help, but this thing he's witnessing here is something that can only stem from within, a confidence in one's own value as a human and as an artist. Bucky is fascinated.

"... I know," Steve murmurs to Clint's back as the other bounces off with glee to explore the studio. Something uncomfortable lodges itself in the back of Bucky's throat.

"Can I ask," Bucky's voice is still too raspy, "what's with the... towel thing?"

Steve looks down at himself, then, and rolls his eyes at himself. He pulls on the knot around his neck. "Forgot about this," he says and huffs when his fingers slip.

Bucky places the glass on the floor next to him and motions Steve closer. "Let me help," he offers.

Steve only hesitates for a second before coming back to kneel in front of Bucky. "Careful, not to cut yourself on my bones," he chuckles and raises his chin, providing access.

The knot is not very tight, but it's tangled somehow within itself, so it takes Bucky a few moments until it comes loose. His knuckles graze the column of Steve's throat, and Bucky can't help but follow it with his eyes, up and around the edges of Steve's jaw.

"Thanks," Steve says, removing the towel and Bucky snaps out of it. He watches as Steve makes his way to one of the sofas, retrieving a white t-shirt.

"A price I'd pay," Bucky thinks, and he's said that out loud as well. What is _wrong_ with him today.

"I'll give you a discount," Steve returns as he pulls the t-shirt over his head.

A bit of Bucky's earlier discomfort dissipates, and it doesn't seem to be just him spewing off cheesy nonsense. Steve stops when he realizes what he's said, his fingers bent like he wants to scratch something, and he rolls his eyes at the ceiling. But then, he just lets it slide off of him, owning it, and he moves with a confidence Bucky's never had. It adds to his earlier fascination.

"I was trying to get a cape reference shot," Steve says just as Clint bounces over, "then the front doorbell rang, and there was a large package, and I managed to lock myself out," he laughs a little bitterly, rubbing a hand through his hair, "and to get to the back door you gotta round the whole block and then some," he huffs.

"Shirtless?" Clint asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Steve pulls on the hem of his t-shirt, "the white was interfering with the frame."

Clint nods knowingly, so it must be an usual occurrence. Bucky couldn't say, he's always been dressed by others for photos and clips. "How'd you end up being chased?" he asks.

Steve shrugs. "Something must've happened nearby cos I got spotted and before I knew it, I was running and they were chasing. Had to circle back and deviate a few times. When I ran into you two, it was my second pass around the coffee shop," he rubs at the back of his neck.

"That's a story for future grandkids," Clint quips.

"I guess," Steve grins widely at Clint, and Clint gives Steve that warm little smile from the coffee shop.

There it is, the unpleasantness is back chewing at Bucky. Awh, no. He's jealous, of both of them, at the same time. Un-fuckin'-believable. At least these two look good together. Bucky sighs. And just as he was about to make some friends, maybe something else. Aside from his band mates, he doesn't really interact with others, and those guys are slipping into some shady habits Bucky won't endorse. He is _not_ going to be the cliché addict that washes out in his thirties. Perhaps it's time to quit, after all.

"Bathroom?" Bucky asks as he lifts himself from the floor, then walks the way Steve points, toward the door.

"Through there, and to the left."

The front of the studio is another open space, this one a lot smaller, and it looks more like an art gallery than anything. It's got a couple of desks and more sofas strategically placed throughout the space, cream shades blocking out the light and thankfully covering the large windows overlooking the street. It makes the room look soft and Bucky hums to himself as he follows the small corridor to the left. Maybe he can still make friends. Maybe Steve and Clint won't like each other that way. The cold water on his face sobers him up a bit and he shakes his head at himself in the mirror.

"You're being stupid, Barnes," he murmurs, "you don't even know these guys. Be patient, wait and see."

It's then that he notices his tied hair, quite crookedly, bits sticking out that are giving him a general scarecrow-chic air. After a little digging, some hair pulling and a lot of swearing, he manages to free his locks and he spends the better part of a minute staring at the paperclip in his hand. How in the world did they manage to do that, Bucky can't imagine, but he succumbs to laughter as he uses the hair band he's gotten in the habit of carrying around his wrist. Anyway, thinking about how nice it had been to be taken care of won't help with his patience issues.

"I should go..." Bucky says as he returns to the studio, but is met with Clint and Steve bent over a desk, poking at a monitor.

"I count sixteen in the back," Clint says.

"At least twenty out front," comes next from Steve.

Security feeds are on the screen, Bucky notices, and the press is still out there. Ugh.

"Well, I guess you're stuck with me," Steve says with a shrug. "Make yourselves whatever," he rolls a finger in the air and disappears through to the front.

A minute later he's back, dragging a long cardboard box, about as big as Steve himself, with various purple stickers on all sides.

"Is that merch?" Clint perks up from where he's been still observing the video feeds. "Hellfire merch?"

"Yeah," Steve huffs and pulls out a box cutter.

Bucky collapses on a sofa, watching them geek out over plushies and mugs and key chains. It's fun, Clint's almost childish, like he's opening Christmas presents. Steve's inspecting the products more seriously, but laughs at Clint's silly comments and his attempts to play with the toys. Bucky never would have thought two adults and a plastic dragon would give him butterflies. But life's stupid that way.

There's a heated conversation, Clint and Steve kneeling over two posters side by side, their heads moving between them in tandem, when Bucky's stomach demands attention again, so he distracts himself with another glass of water from the cooler in the kitchen corner. He wonders how long are the reporters going to be outside, so he moves closer to the monitor still displaying the security camera feeds.

"Hey," he says when he recognizes the sign of the convenience store next to Tasha's, "we're across from the coffee shop!"

Two pairs of eyes blink at him slowly.

"Erm, yeah?" Clint scrunches his face in confusion.

"You didn't know?" Steve this time.

Bucky shakes his head. Aaand they're laughing. Of course they are. "Shut up," he mutters into the glass.

After a while, he gives up on watching the street, it's clear the place is still being cased, so he wanders over to plop on the floor in front of the other two. Steve has somehow pulled a clipboard out of thin air and is marking items off a list, while Clint just frowns lost in thought at a fluffy dragon head attached to the end of a pencil.

"So, Clint," Bucky starts, and Clint looks up with a hum, "what kind of movies do you do?"

"Mostly action," he says, but it doesn't sound like he's committed to it. "What about your music?"

Bucky scratches his nose. "Aw, man, tough one," he huffs with a laugh. Because Bucky's changed his musical style about five times in the past decade.

"Wait, wait, wait," comes from Steve. "You don't know who each other is?"

Clint shakes his head and Bucky shrugs.

"You were _there_ every day," Steve turns to Clint, "and you didn't know."

"Hey, now," Clint starts, but Steve raises his hand to stop him.

"Relax--"

"Please don't--"

"I was doing the same thing as you, that's the _only_ reason I noticed you," Steve bristles.

Bucky swears this is what watching ping-pong feels like. "What are you talking about?"

" _Nothing_." It comes in unison, a little too loudly, before both Clint and Steve busy themselves with the items splayed on the floor around them.

Bucky's pretty sure he's missing something.

"Really the same thing?" Clint mutters after a while, eyes fixed on the fluffy pencil. Bucky blinks.

"Yeah," Steve answers quietly, reading studiously a bubblegum wrapper. Bucky opens his mouth, but finds he has nothing to say.

"Fuck," comes back from Clint on an exhale and it's shaky.

Steve unwraps the gum and breaks it in half, offers Clint a piece. Bucky counts three chews each and five seconds before his stomach rumbles loudly in the silence.

"We forgot to feed him!" Clint exclaims as he looks up.

Next to them, Steve covers his mouth, but he's already laughing. Bucky growls. He's not a child, thank you very much. Steve's just laughing harder, his bony shoulders shaking hard, and Clint grins, pleased with himself.

"I can feed myself," Bucky mumbles.

Nevertheless, they all end up spending the better part of ten minutes searching for food. There's nothing except for a mystery container in the fridge that Steve has opened and then immediately closed. Bucky shudders.

"Well, I guess we're gonna have to brave the cameras," he says, but takes a seat at the desk with the video feeds. "Why aren't they bored yet?" he asks no one in particular.

Steve sighs somewhere behind him. "I'll call Nat, see if she can bring something over."

"Nat?" Clint asks.

"Yeah, from the shop," comes back from Steve.

"Good luck with that," there's a hint of warning mixed with goodbye-forever in Clint's voice.

"What are you saying, she brings me food all the time."

Clint makes an unidentifiable noise. "She knows."

"Oh-boy." Steve sighs again.

Bucky just slides his forehead on the desk, tuning out the conversation. He gives up trying to understand _anything_ of this chaotic day. A peek at the clock on the wall tells him it's already 4PM, and his stomach squirms again. He needs a nap.

A hand settles on Bucky's shoulder and Steve leans in.

"Hey," he says softly, "she says it'll be a couple of hours before she can leave the shop. Can you wait?" and there's genuine concern in his voice.

Bucky opens one eye to find Steve's face very close to his own. He smells like bubblegum and summer, and Bucky stops breathing. He finds himself nodding against the hard wood of the desk, and he realizes he doesn't want to leave, not just yet. Maybe... maybe there's hope, given the way Steve pins him with his gaze.

"Great," Clint claps behind them and Steve breaks away with a squeeze of Bucky's shoulder. "What should we do in the meanti-- ah! do you still need that shot?"

There are footsteps and Bucky turns to see Clint waving the towel at Steve.

"You offering to be shirtless, Barton?" Steve asks and oh. Maybe Bucky should have made that pitch.

"Yeah Barton, be shirtless," Bucky mumbles, "show us the goods".

So his name is Clint Barton. Still doesn't sound familiar. On the edge of the desk there's an old comicon pass and Bucky reads 'Steve Rogers' on it. Doesn't sound familiar either. Oh, well.

Clint rolls his eyes at them, but doesn't remove his t-shirt. Instead, they busy themselves with poses and pokes on the stage area. Bucky is left again to watch from the sidelines and it makes his chest feel hollow at how Steve and Clint synchronize. It's also obvious that Clint knows what he's doing, following directions, keeping poses, so much in his element that Bucky could watch him for hours. He watches Steve run his hands all over Clint as they re-position for another shot. It's not very professional, but who could blame Steve? He also watches Clint wrap his arm around Steve and poke him in the ribs for his amused commentary, but who could blame Clint, either?

Suddenly, it's not fun anymore, and Bucky turns around in the chair, leans his forehead on his hands. This is ridiculous, he doesn't even _know_ these guys. Yet, there it is, this _affection_. He presses his palms over his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to stifle the feeling. It's useless. He's done.

"James."

Maybe he can pull a heartbreak album out of this, then retire. Go out in style and disappear somewhere on a farm, far, far away.

"James!"

"Who the hell is James," Bucky turns with a frown, cos all they've been missing was yet _another_ guy.

Clint looks at him with a raised eyebrow and gestures toward Bucky. Oh for the love of...

"Shit," Bucky inhales, "call me Bucky, I'll respond to that."

The nickname usually pulls laughs out of people, but right now Steve's just turning off cameras and Clint approaches. Bucky leans with an elbow on the armrest, and places his temple in his palm. He can feel his own heart beat hard, but steady in his chest, when Clint doesn't stop outside his personal space, but comes even closer to rest a hand on Bucky's forehead.

"Do you have a fever?"

Bucky wants to kiss Clint just as much as he wants to kiss Steve. It's ridiculous. He shakes his head, dislodging Clint's hand in the process.

"I'm fine, just thinking."

"About?" Clint asks and gives him that damn smile again.

For a moment, Bucky ponders telling him something sweet, or flirty, or to just brazenly steal a kiss. "What a mess my life is," he says instead and rubs a hand over his face.

Clint looks strangely disappointed, but then, "Girlfriend?"

It makes Bucky snort. "Nah."

"Boyfriend?" Steve pops up next to them.

"Neither," Bucky rolls his eyes and rolls his chair, too. He doesn't want to continue this conversation. "Well look, the Russian assassin comes bearing food," he points at the screen.

Tasha-Nat, the redhead, is making her way through the remaining reporters, hand extended with a sprayer bottle. Everyone even _looking_ her way receives a puff of water, and Bucky makes a mental note to buy one of those. It seems effective.

"Is her name Tasha or Nat?" Bucky asks Clint after Steve moves to the front door to let her in.

"It's Natasha," Clint answers, and yeah, that makes way more sense than Tasha-Nat. Bucky's brain is fried today.

Seconds later, Natasha drops bags of containers on the coffee table, before looking at them with consideration.

"You are morons."

Steve and Clint sigh in unison and they both sink into a sofa. Bucky won't stand it, though. No matter how friends act around each other, her comment was too harsh to be banter.

"Hey! What's with the insults?" Bucky says as he raises from the chair.

Instead of answering, Natasha lifts both arms toward the ceiling. She turns her back on Bucky, facing the other two.

"What have I told you, the both of you, day after day and time after time?" She punctuates her words by striking the edge of a hand into the palm of the other.

Strange as it might be, she sounds motherly and Bucky feels like he's missing something again.

"Release me from that stupid dare," she points at Steve. "This is all your fault."

Steve crosses his arms and stares at his feet for a long moment.

"What dare?" Clint asks and Steve swears under his breath before leaning over to whisper something Bucky can't make out.

The sigh Natasha releases is full of defeat. She finally turns to Bucky. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, but you'll understand someday, hopefully soon, and you'll forgive my outburst."

"And you're _so_ _sure_." Bucky can't help it, but he's really really hungry at this point, and there's another rumble coming from his middle.

Natasha's face softens. "How about you eat before you pass out, yeah?"

Behind her, Steve and Clint are engrossed in their quiet conversation and Bucky can feel the weight of earlier double around him. "Sure." Why not.

Natasha smiles victoriously at him and snatches the bags from the table. She settles on the floor and motions for Bucky to join her. He does, and takes the containers she's opening for him, tries what she tells him. The food is pretty good and Bucky's foul mood lifts a little.

"Well, I gotta go," she checks her watch and Bucky notices she hasn't been eating. "Dinner's waiting for me," she adds with a smirk.

"Have fun," he offers a smile. She's not that bad, after all.

Natasha's a few steps away, but then she spins around, as if stopped by an afterthought.

"Say," she says, "if you were to ask one of them out, who'd you choose?"

The way she stands there, one hand on her hip and the recovered sprayer bottle in the other, it reminds Bucky of his own mother. So he defaults to his favorite childhood answer without thinking.

"Do I have to?" he adds a little whine, for good measure. "I like them both."

But then, Natasha grins at him, _with teeth_ , and oh-oh. Bucky looks to the sofas to see both Clint, cheeks pink, and Steve, face red, staring at him.

Bucky, deer, meet headlights.

Natasha is gone by the time Bucky dares draw breath again. He laughs self-deprecatingly into his food, but can't help gaze back up at the other two. Steve and Clint look at each other for a beat, and they seem to come to some sort of conclusion, because they share a nod.

"Ok," Steve says and joins Bucky.

Clint follows shortly and they both dig into the containers for a while. Bucky has lost grasp on reality at this point.

"So," Steve chews and swallows, "I think it was last year? Yeah, kinda," he scrunches his nose, "around spring, when this this guy shows up at Nat's. At first I only heard his voice, but man, I'd _die_ for that voice." Steve inhales, Clint chuckles, and Steve throws a carrot bit at him. "Anyway, it took me about a month to figure out who he was, and he wasn't my type. Absolutely not my type," he gestures with his fork before taking another byte and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

"So?" he asks and Steve smiles while chewing.

"I still crushed hard on him. Sometimes I'd accidentally hear snippets of conversation and when I got the chance to find out more about him, I took it."

Steve pauses again to shove more food in his mouth. Bucky doesn't really understand the point of this. Unless they're doing it on purpose. No, they _wouldn't_.

"I found myself going to the coffee shop right around the time I'd know the guy would show up just so I can lose my nerve and never speak to him," Steve snorts at himself. "After a while, I started seeing this _other_ guy coming in to gaze lovingly upon _my_ dude." Clint chokes and Steve pats him on the shoulder. "I kept thinking, how dare he, but the guy was just as chicken shit as I was. He kinda grew on me." Steve takes a deep breath, looks down at his fork. "And I found myself crushing on _two_ dudes."

Great. Just Bucky's luck, he thinks, but his attention is drawn by Clint clearing his voice.

"Pretty much the same happened to me. One day I'm chilling with Tasha, the next I can't get this guy out of my head," Clint shrugs, "fuck me if I know how that happened. Steve's been more resourceful it seems, cos I didn't even find out the guy's name. I just sat there and fought with Tasha when she encouraged me to talk to him."

Bucky stares at them. By now, they're both studiously examining their food containers, poking around with the forks.

"And?"

"And I didn't even notice this one," Clint elbows Steve, "making heart eyes at you."

That's it. What is even the _point_ of this sto--

Oh.

 _Oh_.

"Are you joking?" he asks, because this sounds too surreal to be true.

"Nope," Steve looks up. "That's why Nat was upset with us. We've driven her up the wall. It got to the point where I dared her to only address you in Russian, so she doesn't take matters into her own hands and _tell_ you."

Well, that explains that. On the plus side, they're all small children, it seems.

"So what now?" Bucky swallows against his dry throat. Perhaps Steve and Clint are tired of pining after Bucky and have decided to see each other instead. They've sure spent a lot of time on that sofa, whispering.

Steve places his food down. "I'd like to date you both," he says with that confidence that's drawn Bucky in, "and I know Clint wants to go out with you?" Steve half asks, waiting for confirmation.

But Clint's looking at the side of Steve's face like he doesn't agree, his mouth moving without words. Bucky decides to help him.

"I think he wants to date you, too," Bucky tells Steve, and Clint's face lights up with relief as he nods.

Steve absolutely beams, like the sun has just turned into a rainbow. He shifts to his knees and pecks Clint's cheek, only Clint catches Steve's arm, and kisses him full on the lips. It's short, but it makes Bucky's butterflies squirm with delight.

"What do you say," Clint looks at Bucky with that stupid warm smile, "wanna try it with us?"

"Yeah," Bucky breathes, 'cos _fuck yeah_ , and "Kiss again," 'cos he hasn't had enough of that yet.

He's met with two wide smiles, and they satisfy his request. It's longer this time, and Bucky can't look away. Watching them feels like he's being kissed by both. Did he say that out loud?

Clint laughs into Steve's mouth, but then he lets go and there are _lips_ on Bucky's. Clint tastes like rain. It only lasts a moment, too short for Bucky's liking, but then Steve's there, with summer in his smile that he presses on Bucky's mouth.

"Perfect," Steve grins.

They settle back down and then it hits Bucky. They _really_ are morons.

"I just met you this morning."

The laughter that comes, Bucky can't stop it. It overflows, washing away his tiredness of late.

"You could have said something earlier."

There are drums in his head, beating a rhythm, melodies coiling around it.

"You'd have gotten me."

And when Steve and Clint join him, their mirth intersects, transferring their music.

The air sings.

~End~

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://intermittently-ava.tumblr.com)


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